WOLF
by E.J.C.Graves
Summary: Wolf is a black ops soldiers for the US. He has cutting edge technology, razor sharp reflexes, the best training possible. He has been to all corners of the world and has a death count to prove it. But nothing could prepare him for this assignment...


Argh! I knew I should have taken out that sniper. I look to the wall behind me and see a bullet ram itself into it. Then comes the sound- _Crack!_ Dang that was close! I inch my head over the parapet to get another look at the guy. That friggin turban wearing man is one good shot. Another bullet hits the wall and sends small shards of brick that sting my face as they fly at me. Gah! How many bullets do I have left? I pull the clip from my rifle as another round craters the barrier behind me. Wow I did not pack enough 5.56mm clips for this one. What about my pistol, no rounds there. The next round hits a window just above my head; as the window cracks because of the bullet a rather large shard lands next to me. Well there is a start. I pick it up, stand up sharply and hurl it at the man across the street. Suddenly the firing stops. Did I hit him? I stand up again and look. OUCH! That took care of him. I stand still for a second or two looking at the man on a rooftop lower than mine. As far as I can see, he has the shard of glass sticking out of his forehead. Dang... that must have given him a headache. Oh well, not my problem anymore. My watch goes off. I look down and see that I have less than fifteen minutes to make it to the rendezvous point. I pick up my rifle, sling it back onto my back, check my pistol, and walk off. As I walk, I can feel the hot Iranian sun bearing down on the posterior of my back, the scratch of the grit that has made its way into my civilian type clothes, and the dull grind of the concrete on my boot's soles. Just another day in another warzone. I answer to the NSA only, I fight for America. I am the very essence of Black Ops, I get thrown into the worst situations and get told to fight my way out. I am a cold blooded killer, I am deadly, I am the first of my type. I am a Loner. I fight alone, I will probably die alone. My name is Matt Daniels, but I am known as WOLF.

Anthony Colburn was with his new partner at the rendezvous point for WOLF at the rendezvous point. He had yet to learn both his partner's and WOLF's names. He and his partner were looking around for WOLF, both bored out of their mind. The other guy was sitting on the ground, while he himself was leaning against the VLADC, a streamlined, stealthy little aircraft that could hold three people and fly extremely fast for days straight. VLADC stood for Vertical Landing Airburst Dampening Cruiser. The thing resembled a wider, elongated F-22 cockpit fit onto a long smooth tube that tapered down to a point, with four jet engines on the side, which could swing down for vertical take off and swing back for forward flight. The thing also had two jet engines attached to the rear of the tubes and wings that folded up for landing like something out of Star Wars. Even though it looked a little odd, it was extremely reliable and fast. The aircraft had only five weapons on it: twin cannons on the nose of it, two air-to-air missiles in the body, and a small EMP gun. The EMP gun shot either a blast of electromagnetic waves which would knock out all aircraft in the surrounding area, or a focused beam of EM radiation to knock out only one target if it was within 25 miles.

As he leaned against it he Anthony thought to himself _Wow if punctual was a person, WOLF would have killed him on sight._ He looked down at his watch and saw that he had three minutes left to wait for WOLF. Three minutes till he could get the heck out of Iran. "Hey, you," he said, gesturing at the other man on the ground, "get off your butt and start getting this thing warmed up." Immediately, his partner hopped to his feet and hurriedly got into the cockpit and started the engines on the jet. Anthony put his flight helmet on and opened the "Pilot's Notes" section in the menu that was displayed. As he thought, he wrote into his diary. _Date: August 23, 2059 A.D., Here I am again, waiting as always. Once again, I have been paired along with WOLF, it sucks: the guy is never on time, he is incessant, egotistical, flamboyant, and rude as heck. It seems that the head of NSA wants my life to be hell. Right now I am in a small town in Iran waiting, patiently, for WOLF to arrive from his day's share of slaughter. It seems that he gets more sadistic each time I pick him up. Anyway, maybe today I will be lucky and he will miss his deadline and I can leave him in this godforsaken land .Tomorrow, I might be able to go to the States again, and get some R & R. Maybe._

As he wrote his last line, he looked at his watch and saw that there was less than a minute left until he could leave. He was mentally counting down the seconds, when he reached fifteen, he looked up and saw WOLF _walking_, not even hurriedly toward them, red civilian button up shirt flying, unbuttoned in the light breeze. Even though in the torso he looked like a tourist, the things that gave him away were the tactical goggles and military cut boots. As soon as he walked up, without saying a word to Anthony, he jumped into the rear seat of the jet in the rear of the fuselage. From outside, he heard guns being set down, him sitting down in his seat and buckling up. This just boiled Anthony from the inside. He sighed loudly and cringed at the sound of WOLF's arrogant voice, "Hey, Tony, let's get out of here!" Grudgingly, Anthony climbed up into the cockpit, closed the window and lifted the VLADC off the ground.

I scratch the back of my head as I sit in the rear of the VLADC. On the way back home. The pilot seemed annoyed at something, but I can't seem to figure it out. Oh well. I hate plane rides, they always make me feel helpless, because I can't control my fate inside a jet someone else is flying. In actuality I could fly myself home after every mission, because I've been cross trained as both a foot soldier and as a pilot among many things. The only problem is Command thinks "I'm too tired to fly myself home". Oh well, at least I'm going home. It's been a while.

Somehow through my paranoia I doze off during the flight. I wake up to the feeling of descent. Are we crashing? A feeling of terror strikes me. I assume the crash brace position immediately. I hear snickering ahead of me. I look up to see the pilot looking back at me, all the while laughing. As I stare back at him, he says, "Oh did the big, bad WOLF get scared?" He bursts into laughter. Getting angry, I reply, "Shut up and give me the altitude." Obviously the tone of my voice shut him up. I look at my feet and notice that I'm standing on the drop door. "Twenty feet above the runway," I hear yelled from the front of the cockpit. Twenty feet, that should be good. I feel the air craft start to descend vertically. With my left hand I pick up my rifle, slide my shooters goggles down. With my right, I pull down on the drop release. I stand up sharply and fall through the door that is released under my feet. The twenty foot drop is very short, but visibly impressive to the various military staff waiting on the ground. I see one general's jaw drop in awe. I can barely keep myself from smirking. I stride up to the congregation of people, many of which are high ranking. Out of the crowd I recognize my advisor, a man of medium, brawny build who I know as Tom. I smile, Tom is my main drinking buddy when I'm in the US. I stand in front of the group and nod at Tom, "Tom, who are these people? You should have told me that I had such adoring fans that awaited my return." Some of the faces look offended by the comment. Tom steps forward and introduces me. He doesn't tell them my real name, but tells them my call sign. "This is WOLF," Tom begins, "the first of the Loners, the new face of black ops. Highly trained, well armed and given the best technology, they are dropped into enemy territory, take out a target and fight their way out with no civilian casualties."

One general is eyeing me, "How much does it cost to arm and train them?" Tom looks overjoyed to answer, "The Loners cost much less than usual black ops troops would, they cost barely one billion apiece!" I see nods of approval. Wait till they see my paycheck. Tom continues, "Wolf here, is the first one to be trained. He just came back from the heart of Iran and look, he has barely a scratch on him. He was up against a terrorist leader and his two hundred bodyguards." How much longer is this speech going to take? Oh well, all I have to do right now is to stand here and look pretty.


End file.
